


Through Autumn's Advancing

by prosopopeya



Series: Season 15 Fix-Its [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Blow Jobs, Dean Winchester is Loved, Dean Winchester's Birthday, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Human Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Post-Canon, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:42:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28985799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prosopopeya/pseuds/prosopopeya
Summary: He forgets about his birthday every year until he looks around and realizes it's January, and then he usually forgets about it a few more times after that, half on accident, half on purpose, like he's putting something on a shelf and shoving it to the back so he doesn't have to look at it anymore. It's the kind of thing they've stopped marking regularly because it's not like they ever did a great job at holidays, at celebrations, the way they should've when they were kids, so there's nothing nostalgic about it. Anyway, half the time they're elbows-deep in the middle of the newest flavor of apocalypse so it isn't like they have time to stop and sing around a cake. It isn't like they have something to celebrate.And maybe sometimes, he didn't want to jinx things. Birthday today, dead tomorrow, something like that.----In which Dean Winchester is celebrated.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Season 15 Fix-Its [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2024672
Comments: 31
Kudos: 206





	Through Autumn's Advancing

**Author's Note:**

> A warm, easy fic commemorating my fellow January birthday-haver, Dean Winchester.

_I'm renewed; oh, how I feel alive_

_And through autumn's advancing we'll stay young, go dancing_

He forgets about his birthday every year until he looks around and realizes it's January, and then he usually forgets about it a few more times after that, half on accident, half on purpose, like he's putting something on a shelf and shoving it to the back so he doesn't have to look at it anymore. It's the kind of thing they've stopped marking regularly because it's not like they ever did a great job at holidays, at celebrations, the way they should've when they were kids, so there's nothing nostalgic about it. Anyway, half the time they're elbows-deep in the middle of the newest flavor of apocalypse so it isn't like they have time to stop and sing around a cake. It isn't like they have something to celebrate. 

And maybe sometimes, he didn't want to jinx things. Birthday today, dead tomorrow, something like that.

But things have been quiet for a while now, Jack up in heaven, Sam and Eileen splitting their time between the bunker and traveling, and Dean and Cas scratching days off the calendar like that's all that's on the to-do list. It'd been scary at first, he isn't going to lie, but he doesn't think anyone would've thought anything different about how Dean would feel about pulling Cas into his life after all this time and putting a name to this thing, to live _deliberately_. 

And really, what present could Dean get for his birthday that would top the day that Jack popped into the bunker, something otherworldly, heavy, _other_ about him that had stirred something in Dean the same way Cas busting into the barn had done all those years ago. Jack had just smiled and stepped aside and then there was Cas, lines in his face and happiness in his eyes, and Dean had been rooted to the spot, just staring, as Sam and Eileen took their turns hugging him. Dean was last, only moving once Cas said his name, small and unsure, and that kicked Dean into motion; he'd stepped forward, feet like lead, mouth dry, until he could pull Cas in close and hold onto him, press Cas into him until he could feel the beat of his heart against his own. 

It was later that Dean went to Cas in his room, closed the distance again, took Cas's face in his hands.

"I don't know what I'm doing," he'd said, "but I want to figure it out with you." 

And they'd kissed and it was then that Dean really felt it: Cas was home. Cas _is_ home.

Sam and Eileen were happy about it, but in reality, it almost didn't matter to Dean-- _almost_ , let's not get crazy here. But he's forty-two years old now, a full on grown up, and it's the endgame now, and they all survived somehow. He walked away from God, walked away from being the killer he'd afraid was all that was left of him. He walked away from the part of him that was his dad's blunt instrument, and he was ready to embrace the version of him that Cas saw when he looked at him, into his soul.

Cas can't do that anymore, he guesses, graceless and all, but there's still something off about him from time to time, the way he gets misty eyed when he talks about the beauty of flowers or makes a joke decidedly unfunny by breaking it down into too many pieces. The way sometimes, after they doze off after sex for a bit, Dean wakes up with his head on Cas's chest and opens his eyes and finds Cas just watching him, staring at him like he used to do, and Dean thinks that Cas can still see straight through him after all. 

Sometimes, when it's early in the morning and it's Dean's turn to wake up when Cas rolls over and steals the blankets again, and he has to gently pull some back for himself, he wishes he could tell Charlie. 

This year, he's in the kitchen a couple days into the month, and he glances at the calendar, and he remembers--oh yeah. His birthday. This year is different, maybe; this year there's time to stop and celebrate, take stock, make memories, whatever.

He goes back to making French toast and doesn't say anything when Cas slouches into the kitchen and drapes himself over a stool. 

**~**

No one else mentions anything. He doesn't expect them to, and maybe it's better that way. Would he even like having a party? What would he even _do_? He already drinks more than he should, eats too much pie, and falls asleep on the couch with his head in Cas's lap or vice versa; what other kind of party could he possibly have? What's better than the way things are now, unafraid for their lives, unhurried in the way they move from day to day, making hazy plans to fill in all the gaps Cas still has on his way to embracing his humanity? 

The actual morning of, he'd like to say that he woke up completely oblivious to the date, but in reality he watched the clock the night before, and once it hit 12:01, he toasted himself, small and quiet and private, just a little congrats to himself to have made it far enough to start getting gray hairs, something that Cas likes to tell him about whenever he plays with Dean's hair, and Dean whines and bats at his hands. But he's starting to find them, too, and he can't help but wonder how gray he'll get, how it'll look, because he's never had any reason to think that he'd live this long to see it.

He wakes up, forty-two years old, with an ex-angel sleeping hard next to him, just a tangle of hair poking out from the blankets. It's too hot under the covers; Cas is a goddamn furnace, and Dean wakes up sweaty more often than he'd really like. He tries to pull himself away from the heat of Cas's body, but Cas sleepily follows, stubborn, and curls an arm around Dean's waist and pulls him back against his chest, and Dean sighs because he's hot, but he smiles because he's loved, too. And isn't that something?

Dean makes breakfast, as usual. Egg whites for Sam, pancakes with butter and maple syrup for everyone else, a big bowl of fruit in the middle of the table because Cas likes fruit with his breakfast too. They talk, they flip through the paper, scroll through the news, just in case. They make a second pot of coffee. Cas practices his sign language with Eileen; he used to be fluent, used to know every language in the world, but things are fading now, and he doesn't want to get rusty, but he's still further along than Sam, who sits to the side and tries to keep up. 

By the time the morning starts to turn into afternoon, Dean thinks about taking a nap. He's forty fucking two years old, and he's like sort of retired basically, and if he wants to take a goddamn nap, that's his right as an old man. 

Instead, Sam comes to him with his phone in one hand and a notepad in the other, and he says Claire called him; she's got a lead on something, wants another set of eyes to help her out. Dean does and doesn't want to go, does and doesn't want to step back into the life now he has a taste of being out of it, but maybe--maybe--he misses it. Or maybe he just misses Claire.

Either way, he and Cas shove some clothes into a bag, and Dean grabs the keys to the Impala, and they start out down the road, engine purring, and Dean wrestles with the sense of being home in this car, driving somewhere with a purpose, feeling right--but not really looking forward to having to kill again. How's that for a birthday? 

Cas digs around in the box of tapes until he finds his mix, and he slides it into the tape deck and sits back, watching out the window, nodding along to the music. He's quiet, moving between staring into the distance and fiddling with his phone, fingers flying over the keyboard. The town is only a few hours away, but Dean takes it slow after Cas informs him that Claire says there's no rush; there shouldn't be any activity until sundown, anyway. 

At some point, Dean reaches over and sets his hand on Cas's leg, and they drive like that until the tape runs out.

**~**

They pull into town and hit up a motel first.

"Single or double?" 

Dean's forty-two years old, and he almost stutters when he says, "Single," before Cas gets a chance to swoop in and take this from him. He's pink in the ears, but if the front desk woman has any reaction at all, it's to smile brighter, something lighting up in her eyes as she glances between them and seems less bored of it all. She's got hot pink hair and a tattoo peeking out from under her sleeve. Dean is half tempted to ask where she got her flannel shirt from, and when she checks his (fake) ID along with his credit card, she looks up at him.

"Happy birthday," she says, sliding everything back to him. "Are you in town to celebrate?"

He'd forgotten that card has his actual birthday on it. It's the first time anyone said that to him today, and it's almost weird to hear it. He feels himself getting pink again, half glancing at Cas, wondering now if Cas is going to make a thing of it, if Cas is going to be annoyed he'd forgotten, or that Dean hadn't mentioned it.

"We're visiting family." Cas does swoop in that time, and the woman smiles again.

"Have fun! There's not much exciting around here, but there's a bar in town that does a pretty good drag brunch on the weekends, if you're looking for something to do." 

Dean is maybe putting pieces together, is maybe thinking about Charlie again, when he smiles and nods and thanks her around something in his throat that really shouldn't be there.

Cas doesn't comment on any of it when they get back to the room, and instead lays claim to the shower and disappears long enough for Dean to wonder if actually he should be the one who's annoyed that Cas didn't follow up on the birthday thing. 

When he comes out of the shower, he's attempted to arrange his hair, and he's wearing the jeans that are maybe a little too tight for him, and the shirt Dean likes, soft and dark blue with a nearly invisible pattern of black lines running along it. Maybe this is Cas's way of acknowledging it after all, and maybe it's one Dean can appreciate.

He stands up and catches Cas by the wrist, then slides his hand up his arm, smoothing over the soft fabric; his other hand finds Cas's hip and pulls him in close until their hips connect.

"You look good," he says, voice low, as Cas's hands come up to his waist. "When did we have to meet up with Claire?" 

He watches Cas's throat bob as he turns to look at the motel clock. "We have time." 

"Yeah?" His voice is rough as he slides his hand up further, over his shoulder, onto his neck, thumbing over his jaw, over the stubble that Cas hadn't bothered with. "Time for what?" 

Cas blinks his confusion for a second or two, starts to voice it even, before he notices Dean grinning at him, and he starts to smile back, shy and happy and hungry now, too.

"I think you know already." 

Dean hums. "Time to fix your hair?" he asks, teasing, grinning still as Cas starts to frown and get that constipated, annoyed look on his face that Dean finds cute when he's causing it on purpose, at least.

"My hair?" 

"Yeah, you know." He slides his hand into Cas's hair now, carding through it, and then he tugs, and Cas inhales sharply. "You always manage to look like you've never seen a comb." He tugs again, pulling Cas's head back and to the side, so he can crowd in closer, so he can ghost his lips over Cas's. Cas can't lean in any more than Dean lets him, and so he can only huff against Dean's mouth, only half annoyed still.

"Maybe that's because someone always messes it up." 

"Maybe that's because you look good with sex hair," Dean shoots back, and then there isn't much talking anymore because their mouths find better things to do. 

They've kissed a lot since Cas got back, since Dean got his shit together, and he figures it has something to do with needing to make up for all the years they were both thinking about this but not letting themselves have it. They've kissed enough that it's almost familiar now, almost just a part of the everyday, and that's a marvel in and of itself, enough to steal Dean's breath as Cas licks into his mouth and starts pulling him toward the bed.

Dean winds up shirtless and on his knees, Cas's jeans tugged down so Dean can lean in and catch his cock in his mouth, run his tongue around the head, nose at his balls until Cas is making those soft sounds that Dean loves to chase. Cas is so unselfconscious like this, mouth falling open and head rolling back on his shoulders. It'd made Dean's first foray into this after a good twenty year long break all that much easier because Cas just gave himself over, easy, trusting; he let Dean set the pace, let Dean tell him how hard he liked it, let Dean figure out what _he_ liked, even, let alone what Cas liked, let alone what he liked to do _to_ Cas.

He likes taking Cas apart like this, cupping his balls in one hand while his mouth works over his cock, diving down to the base and holding long enough for Cas to gasp out above him, then pulling back again and pumping his hand in time with his mouth, teasing his tongue over him.

Cas comes and Dean swallows it down because he likes the feel of his cock pulsing in his mouth, likes slowly bringing him back down to earth with his mouth still over him, until he pulls off and looks up to find Cas blissed out, smiling faintly. 

Dean moves to stand up and something pops in his knee that has him hissing under his breath and sitting heavily, rubbing at it.

"Are you okay?" Cas asks, voice rough, but at attention already, reaching over to touch at Dean's knee.

"Fine," he grunts out, giving another squeeze before he leans back with a wry smile. "Just getting old. You gonna love me still when I'm too old to get on my knees and suck your dick?"

Cas rolls his eyes with his whole body, his smile fond as he starts pushing Dean back toward the pillows. "Dean. Don't be ridiculous." 

He tugs his pants up, fly still undone, and climbs onto the bed, moving up Dean's body, up to Dean's cock, hard and trying its damnedest to break free of his jeans, and together he and Cas undo his fly and wriggle his jeans lower until his dick pops up, tenting his boxers. He leans down and closes his mouth around the head of his cock, the heat and the wet pressing through the fabric to leave Dean squirming. 

"We can always 69," Cas says, and Dean picks his head up to find Cas grinning at him like the smartass he is, but Cas's mouth goes back to teasing Dean, and Dean doesn't want to give him a reason to stop.

Cas is maddening with this; he likes taking Dean apart too, and Dean sometimes wonders if he's cheating, if he learned Dean's sweet spots when he stitched him back together; wonders if he dipped into Dean's memories and remembered a little too much of the good stuff whenever he looked into his soul, or whatever. Probably, though, it's because Cas is a nerd, and thorough, and fucking patient because he takes his time teasing Dean until the teasing and the actual sucking of his cock blur together into one long moment, Dean gasping and twisting until Cas grabs him by the hips and holds him still. 

When Cas finally does let him come, he's sweaty and thrumming, his legs shaky, his heart jumpy, and Cas is proud of himself, again, like he always is after, grinning broadly as Dean tries to remember how lungs are supposed to work.

Cas lays down at Dean's side, pressed up against him, but his hands are busy with his phone, at least until Dean reaches up and snatches the phone out of his hand.

"Dean--" 

He tosses the phone to the foot of the bed and rolls over, burying his face into Cas's neck and winding his arm around his chest.

"No phones," he murmurs, nosing at him, and above him, Cas sighs, fond but irritated.

"I was asking Claire what time she needed us to be there," he says flatly, and Dean _does_ care, but he doesn't, not when his limbs still feel heavy and sleepy.

"Since when do you know what 69-ing is?" Dean asks instead, and Cas huffs.

"Ariana Grande sang a song about it." 

Dean groans and moans about Cas's shitty taste in music until Cas pushes him out of bed and grabs his phone where it's vibrating against the sheets. It turns out Dean has time for a quick shower, and he leaves the door open, Cas wandering in and out as he brushes his teeth and stands at the mirror.

"You _did_ mess up my hair," he grumbles, and Dean laughs, shampoo dripping down the back of his neck.

**~**

Cas has the address and talks Dean through the directions. The streetlights are coming on as he takes them through town, driving further out until the buildings start to be more and more spaced out, until it's a little easier to see the stars, the moon in the sky, big and bright and bold. 

"This is it," Cas says and points to a sign off the side of the road. 

"Really?" Dean glances over at him, and Cas's eyes are on him, his phone still in his hand. He nods and Dean lifts his eyebrows as he makes a left. "A drive-in theater? What kind of case did Claire say this was?" 

Probably, he should've asked ages ago, but he'd been distracted by the music, by Cas, by this overwhelming sense of contentment and peace that makes it hard to remember to be on edge, sometimes.

"She didn't give a lot of details," Cas says lightly as Dean pulls in.

The lot is dotted with cars; he can recognize Claire's, but also Jody's, and Garth's, and somehow, Sam and Eileen, but maybe more surprising is the screen, huge and lit up with the words _Happy birthday, Dean_. He glances quickly over at Cas who's smiling his satisfied smile again, finally pocketing his phone. 

He parks in the spot with balloons all around it, and everyone's there to yell surprise when he climbs out, and there's laughing and clapping, and Dean has a lot of hugs to dole out, everyone crowding in and talking over each other. 

"How did you get here without us seeing you?" he asks Sam, who grins and nods at Cas.

"He kept us updated on where you were so we could stay behind you." 

Cas is smiling next to him, and Dean tries to pick through all the flavors of gratitude and surprise that are overwhelming him.

"Did you do all this?" 

Cas shakes his head, and his eyes flick to past Dean's shoulder.

"It was my idea." Claire looks maybe the smuggest of all, leather jacket and braids and all, and she shrugs. "You know how hard it is planning a birthday party for you, old man? No one could agree on anything until I reminded everyone how you're an antique and your party should be too." 

Dean fakes an annoyed laugh at her, and she wrinkles her nose at him, and then he grabs her and pulls her in for a hug. 

The night is easy, somehow, with familiar faces everywhere--other hunters, Charlie and Bobby; Max finds him and hands him a beer, nods to Cas and tells Dean he's happy for him. Jesse and Cesar lean against the Impala and have a drink with them, swapping embarrassing stories, stupid couple shit that almost makes Dean want to gag, except for how good it feels, underneath.

There's cake and food, and Dean has time to wander around, drifting from one conversation to another, talking about cinematography and dialogue here and there. He's against the hood of the Impala, Cas at his side, when Claire comes up to him again and holds out a present. 

"Thought you guys said you weren't doing this," Dean says as he takes the bag, and Claire shrugs, sliding her hands into her pockets. He pulls out a DVD--the _Adam Sandler 4-Movie Collection_ \--and a book called _50 Awesome Things to Do in Retirement_. 

"Just figured I owed you a birthday present." She grins, just for a second, and then she nods at Cas. "Besides, you need to take him to do something fun. You can't just let him rot away with you in that hole in the ground." 

"It's a very nice hole in the ground," Cas says, half defensive, and then Dean makes Claire turn around so she doesn't miss one of the best scenes of this movie.

They wind up showing a couple films, and people start leaving at some point as the night wears on, slowly driving off. Jody comes to say goodbye, and she pulls Dean in, hugs him tightly.

"I'm proud of you," she says, quiet so only Dean can hear. "You deserve this. Happy birthday." 

He clings harder than he means to, and he watches, pretending like his eyes aren't watery, as Jody wraps her arms around Cas, murmuring lowly to him too. 

Eventually, it's just them and Sam and Eileen and the credits rolling, and Dean feels full--of cake, of beer, of love--and unsure of what to do with it all. He hadn't wanted necessarily to make a big thing of his birthday, wasn't sure how it would feel to be the center of something, to celebrate, to _be_ celebrated. 

"Well, what'd you think?" Sam has his arms crossed over his chest, and he's happy, but nervous too, a kid again hoping he'd done a good job, gotten Dean a good present, made him happy. 

"Are you kidding? He loved it." Eileen grins up at him, tucked into Sam's side.

"How did you get everyone to...?" He trails off, and Sam snorts.

"I only had to call Garth, and then everyone else kind of invited themselves. We started to get worried we wouldn't have enough room." He pauses, smiling, and then he reaches out and clinks his beer bottle to Dean's. "Happy birthday." 

Dean smiles, wistful, and then clinks his bottle with Eileen and Cas too and takes a sip. "I can't believe we made it this far," he says, something too close to the truth there maybe. Cas leans closer to him and Eileen nods, eyes on the ground. 

"Forty-two looks good on you." Sam sets his hand on Dean's shoulder and squeezes. "Forty-three'll be even better."

**~**

Sam tells the attendant that they're done for the night, but Dean and Cas are clear to hang around as long as they like. He hugs Eileen, signs _thank you_ to her, and then he hugs his brother, and Sam's stupid hair tickles his cheek, and Dean hangs on tighter, longer. 

He pulls Cas into the backseat of the Impala once it's just the two of them, mumbling about how it isn't really a drive-in until you makeout in the backseat, but once they're back there, they wind up just sitting, Cas in Dean's arms, music playing on the radio. The stars are more visible now that the lights are all out, and it's peaceful, restful. 

"Was that your first drive-in?" Dean asks. Cas's head bumps against his chest as he talks, and Dean noses into the top of his hair.

"Yes. I imagine there's usually more paying attention to the film," Cas says, amused. 

"Depends on how good the movie is, or the date." Dean grins into his hair and Cas huffs, fidgeting until he can curl his hands around Dean's arm over his chest.

"Did you have a nice time?" Cas sounds hesitant too. "I was worried it would be overwhelming." 

Dean thinks again about how he hadn't been sure he wanted all this, how he wouldn't know how to feel being the center of attention for something other than causing an apocalypse. Last night around this time, he'd been the only one still awake in the bunker, just him and a bottle of Scotch, and he'd thought that would be it. A party of one, a fine enough celebration. 

Last night feels so far away from tonight, a whole lifetime apart, like Dean aged forty-two years all over again in the past twenty-four hours. Dean the hunter, and Dean the early retiree, coming together to watch Westerns and Star Wars, surrounded by all the faces that they have left. 

"Yeah, Cas," he says. "Yeah, I had a great time." 

Dean's forty-fucking-two years old, and if he wants to make out in the back of his car with Cas, then he will; if he wants to go back to their motel room and flop on the bed and watch shitty late night TV until they both fall asleep, then he'll do that too. And maybe, if they want to, they will go to a drag brunch in the morning, or just drive out of town and keep going until it's time to turn around again. He has time for it all. 


End file.
